An Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object
by MissKitsune08
Summary: Story #2: Vice-Admiral Thrawn receives an unexpected visitor almost at the same time as Captain Parck decides to drop by his apartment to congratulate him on his promotion. Story #1: After Thrawn managed to retrieve the stolen masterpiece of his collection from the Rebels, his senior command staff wonders what the wild mynock chase has been all about and demands an explanation.
1. The Gundark in an Art Gallery

The Freak Fleet 'verse: A series of stories exploring the dynamics among Grand Admiral Thrawn, Pellaeon, Covell, Parck, Niriz, Dorja, and other members of the Seventh Fleet. Legends cast in Rebels, a couple of OCs. Mix of Canon and Legends (Essentially AU). Serious, as well as not-so-serious fics. Semi-crack.

The Freak Fleet - Breaking the Ice - Of Chiss and Men - Witch Hunt - Second Chances - Chance Encounters - The Evil So Terrible It Tried To Black Out The Stars - **An Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object** \- All Roads Lead to Coruscant - Freak Fleet Files - A Kingdom of Isolation

* * *

"I'm only saying there's more to this than a missing trinket. The Admiral turns the station and the ship upside down, disappears for hours, won't discuss why, only that the situation's been resolved." Colonel Covell set down his mug of Forvish ale a bit more firmly than necessary.

"If the Admiral doesn't want us to know the details," Captain Pellaeon countered, "it's not really our business, is it? Whatever it was the Rebels took, it's been resolved." He chose to overlook that his choice of beverage this evening, the rather volatile syrspirit, said that his nerves weren't quite so convinced.

"Damn it, Gilad, it's _your_ ship!" Covell cursed. "He's obviously got something aboard that we don't know about and which he's willing to go to great personal lengths to protect. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

A heavy hand fell on Covell's shoulder, making him slosh his drink dangerously close to spilling.

"Curious about what?" General Bittenfeld, Seventh Fleet's Army corps commander, dropped into a chair with all the grace of the red-headed Wookiee on spice he sometimes resembled.

Covell only looked resigned to the intrusion. "We were discussing the incident at Ord Trasi. The Admiral's little mynock hunt."

"Oh, that!" Bittenfeld snorted. "Probably just misplaced one of those trinkets he collects. Positively insane about them."

"I don't know," Pellaeon sighed in spite of himself. "This was . . . different. I'd almost have said he was in a panic, if he were capable of it."

"He took a shuttle, with no troopers, not Navy or Stormtroopers, and when he came back, it was as if nothing happened," Covell said, uneasy as he probably was about his commanding officer taking an interest. Pellaeon couldn't blame him. At worst, Bittenfeld would probably just speculate as he'd just done. Still, once an idea took root, he could out-stubborn a bull bantha.

"I was merely speculating about what could be so important to the Admiral he'd upset protocol seven ways from Selonia to deal with it, but then wouldn't explain what any of it was about."

Bittenfeld poured himself a glass from the pitcher of ale and downed it in one swallow. "You want to know what the Admiral's up to?"

Pellaeon felt a sense of impending doom.

"Let's just go and ask."

With General Bittenfeld in the lead, they arrived to the door of Grand Admiral Thrawn's office, the Stormtrooper standing guard in front of the door giving the General a sharp salute immediately when he saw him. This one might have been one of the hand-picked stormtroopers by Thrawn but strictly speaking, the Grand Admiral had only borrowed him from the General as the Stormtrooper Corps belonged to the Army contingent.

"At ease, trooper," the General waved him off, "is the Admiral there?"

"Yes, sir," the trooper said in the usual filtered voice, "though he mentioned he did not wish to be disturbed at this time."

The General gritted his teeth.

"Well, you had better told him there is a matter I wish to discuss with him, trooper."

"Sir, yes, sir," the stormtrooper and tilted his head to a side, presumably activating the internal comm link, calling the Grand Admiral.

They waited in silence for several minutes and then the stormtrooper titled his head back and turned his attention to them.

"The Admiral will see you now, General." The trooper activated the switch at the side panel and stepped aside.

"Yes, General Bittenfeld?" came the smooth, cultured voice of Grand Admiral Thrawn from the far end of the room.

The Chiss was seated in his chair, the whole command room shrouded in near-darkness, lit up only by the extensive holographic gallery.

The General apparently didn't have the habit of tip toeing around Thrawn's precious virtual art collection like Pellaeon did. Instead he walked right through them, causing the flatsculps and tri-d works to ripple and momentarily disappear. Pellaeon shook his head at the blatant disrespect to the works of art, holograms or not. The Grand Admiral always looked up to them with such admiration and awe as if they were true originals personally given and signed by the creators themselves. Pellaeon might never be able to truly appreciate them as Thrawn did, but he would have never dared to barge through them like the General had just done.

In the General's defense, though, it was not a deliberate act of an insubordination or an offense. A part of Bittenfeld's brain responsible for perceiving art must have been clearly missing or so under-developed that even the Grand Admiral gave up on disciplining him for being disrespectful to the works of great masters. It would have been as the finest Mon Cal opera compositions to deaf ears. There was no point at feeling anger towards the General just like there was no point of feeling anger towards the weather any other force of nature.

This was simply General Bittenfeld at his finest. The only culture in him resided in his intestines.

"Grand Admiral."

The gundark-in-an-art-gallery stopped directly in front of the Chiss, looking him straight in the eyes, the humility in his voice when he said the rank sounding completely out of place with his careless behavior so far.

"There is a certain matter we need to discuss."

Thrawn leaned over and pressed a button, all the holograms in the room disappearing in an instant, the lights switching on, immediately brightening up the room into the pre-set standard aboard an any Imperial ship.

"I am unaware of any outstanding issues with the Army, General."

Thrawn gave them a curt, polite nod in welcome, his glowing red eyes briefly flickering over at Pellaeon and then back at the gundark.

"Or given Captain Pellaeon's presence, is there some conflict between the two services?"

It was always fascinating to observe the interaction between the two giants, Pellaeon thought. The Grand Admiral, solid, calm, composed, alien; his face carved from stone, his voice smooth and cultured. The General, an unchained, wild, passionate and brutally honest man whose every expression was always clearly written on his face, his voice rough and full of emotion.

"Actually, sir, it's about the recent . . . incident at Ord Trasi." General Bittenfeld tried his very best at being polite toward the Chiss.

Clearly he held the Grand Admiral in the highest respect though he was not afraid of him in the slightest.

Thrawn paused, just for a moment. "Incident? Did the rebels inflict further damage?" he asked in a deceptively mind tone.

If it been anyone else Pellaeon would have gone as far as describing it as faux innocence.

The General stiffened, an expression of anger crossing his features. Obviously he did not enjoy being treated like a fool, by Thrawn or anyone. Whatever respect he held for Thrawn's position was gone in an instant.

"Sir, you required ship and station personnel to conduct a search, which turned up nothing, and you disappeared for several hours, returned, and . . . well, sir, we have no idea what it was about. It was rather disruptive to the Army and station crew as well."

Thrawn's eyes narrowed.

"I do not need to explain my actions to you, General, or to anyone else on my command staff. Dismissed."

Bittenfeld didn't move.

"With all due respect sir, I disagree."

"This is a personal matter and not a command question."

Was Pellaeon imagining things, or did Thrawn sound just slightly tense? Enough to be noticed, even.

Bittenfeld drew himself up, the gundark preparing to charge.

"So you mean to tell me, _sir_ , you ran _my_ men in circles, turning the whole station upside down for a purely personal matter and did not even have the decency to inform me beforehand?"

Thrawn rose, a reminder that his height was not inconsiderable, either.

"General Bittenfeld, while I consider myself a very patient man and tolerate your emotional outbursts, this time you have overstepped your place. I repeat: You. Are. Dismissed."

Bittenfeld crossed his arms, and his chin lifted in pure defiance.

"No."

Pellaeon swallowed hard, and he heard Covell suck in a long, hissing breath. The General not only refused to back down, not only he had committed a clear act of insubordination, he had said 'No.'

Not 'no, sir', something the Chiss would have let him walk away without consequences, he had said 'No.'

The Grand Admiral jerked in surprise, the red eyes widening. It must have been a great surprise indeed if his preternatural control slipped and the shock appeared so openly on the otherwise calm and composed face.

"I beg your pardon?"

Pellaeon felt the blood freeze in his veins, he felt the color drain from his face, he felt his heart stop and then suddenly kick back in and start beating so fast he thought he would collapse.

Bittenfeld was not at all intimidated.

"Damn you, Thrawn, you may be a Grand Admiral and command my allegiance but I am the Seventh Fleet General. How do you expect me to take care of my men when you conceal such things from me?"

Pellaeon recalled the myths surrounding the Chiss, the horrible things that happened to those who crossed them, the far-fetched descriptions of Chiss supernatural skills, their ability to steal the souls of the beings who were foolish enough to look them in the eyes. At this very moment, he would have sworn the myths were all true.

"I expect your men to follow orders," Thrawn said in a tone that could have cut glass, the glowing eyes blazing like infernal fires. "That includes orders where they are not privy to the details."

General Bittenfeld must have been suicidal, there was no other reasonable explanation for how he kept going despite being subjected to the same hypnotizing gaze.

Pellaeon thought it might be time to intercede. "With absolutely all due respect, sir, in this particular scenario further details might have made matters a bit easier."

Bittenfeld wasn't bothering with politeness. "Don't screw with me, Thrawn. You know very well that I have always followed your orders without question even when they made absolutely no sense. This is different."

Pellaeon didn't dare breathe, let alone speak.

Something shifted in the red eyed gaze, and suddenly all three were released from the invisible spell. The Chiss curiosity got better of him.

"In what respect?"

General Bittenfeld put on the suicide vest and ran toward the enemy lines.

"You used Imperial resources for a personal mission, resolved it yourself, without any indication it was proper use of my men's time. Play with your little ships all you want, but if you're going to use Army equipment, you're going to tell me what for."

So that was it. The General was insane. Mentally unstable. Unfit for duty. Not only the part of Bittenfeld's brain responsible for perceiving art was missing. He also happened to have no survival instinct whatsoever.

The Chiss must have realized it too, for he had decided to take mercy on the weak-minded fool.

"You are making a mistake, General. I suggest you leave now before I change my mind and decide to remind you to what happens to those who make mistakes."

Pellaeon could feel his heart hammering and was surprised he couldn't hear Covell's as well. Everyone knew what Thrawn meant about uncorrected errors and mistakes. He and Covell took a step forward and were about to drag the General away, probably to have him locked up in a mental asylum. Permanently.

"No, Grand Admiral, _you_ are making a mistake."

Unfortunately, the General was faster and stronger than them, pushing them away. Well, so much for trying to save him.

"I am calling my favor for Atollon," the General said, his voice cold as ice, "And for the record, I want to state that this is not how I expected it to happen. I wanted to have a fight with you, full power, no holding back, even if you were to break every kriffing bone in my body."

He took a deep breath.

"Screw it, I am calling the favor and I am doing it now. I let you lead my men into a battle because of your petty personal vendetta against the _Ghost's_ crew and you not only failed to capture them or kill them, your actions brought wrath of an immortal creature upon my men and resulted in unnecessary loss of lives and waste of Imperial resources. There are only two ways I leave this room, with an answer or in a body bag."

Thawn just stared at Bittenfeld, the glowing eyes unblinking. He even appeared to stop breathing for a moment. It was as if the Chiss brain was trying to solve an equation that had no solution. As if he had been trying to divide by zero.

Pellaeon wondered exactly how he was going to phrase a report about a suddenly-deceased general being cleaned up in the Grand Admiral's command room.

Thrawn pressed a button in his command chair's control pad and spoke a few words in a language Pellaeon didn't understand at all. A light flickered on the control panel in response, and Thrawn nodded as if to himself.

"Very well. Understand, gentlemen, if any of you reveals to _anyone_ what I am about to show you, he will not live long enough to regret having done so."

Thrawn lead them back through his art display room where he kept his physical art collection when it was not on display to the private entrance to his quarters. Covell wondered aloud, speaking for them both, "Maybe he's just going to kill us somewhere private."

Pellaeon didn't reply, but he had a horrible feeling the Colonel might be right.

Inside the Grand Admiral's private quarters, the living space was far less austere than Pellaeon would have expected. The bedding looked . . . nonstandard, softer, and while it shouldn't have surprised him to see art on the walls, it was real art, and much more delicate than he'd have predicted - starscapes, snow fields, and even one of the rare and expensive Alderaani moss paintings. Besides the usual bunk and a work space, a small table with flimsy and drawing materials sat near the viewport. There was a carafe of some dark liquid on the table as well, and to Pellaeon's confusion, there were two glasses beside it.

Thrawn spoke, that same incomprehensible language, and there was a flicker of movement at the corner of his vision.

Pellaeon turned, and he felt his jaw drop. Covell apparently wasn't breathing, and there was a strangled sound that might have been Bittenfeld. Because whatever they had expected, it was not this. This was a tall, slender female, nearly Thrawn's height, with the same powder-blue skin and glowing red eyes. A mane of cobalt hair was swept back in an artfully-disheveled braid, and while she glanced uncertainly at Thrawn, her bearing left no doubt that she was a person accustomed to being dignified and in control. And for an unguarded instant, Thrawn was looking at her the way Pellaeon had previously only seen him look at an especially-treasured piece of art.

So . . . this was the masterpiece at the heart of Thrawn's collection.

* * *

Lisetha studied the three officers, until this moment mere faces from the secure-cams Thrawn had required her to know, and raised an eyebrow. [Thrawn, if we're going to have visitors, I would have appreciated much more time to be prepared. I'm a complete fright.] She spoke Cheunh, knowing none of them would comprehend it.

Thrawn smiled, so slightly a human likely wouldn't notice. [If I had my choice, they wouldn't be here,] he replied in kind. [I apologize for disturbing you.]

[Not at all. It's rather refreshing to see new faces.] She gave what she hoped was a suitably polite nod. "Gentlemen."

Pellaeon (she knew him by the mustache and the naval rank on his uniform) recovered first. "Ah. . . my . . . lady?"

"You may address her as Lady Lisetha," Thrawn said, and she could hear the note of amusement low in his voice, though she was sure the humans could not. He held out a hand to her and let him guide her to stand before them.

"Lisetha, allow me to present General Bittenfeld, Captain Pellaeon, and Colonel Covell."

Lisetha smiled, she hoped broadly enough. "An honor to meet you all in person. Though I confess I am rather surprised to meet you at all."

"Believe me, Lady, not half as surprised as any of us." Bittenfeld was indeed as bold as Thrawn complained. He sounded, if anything, like he was trying not to laugh. "Thrawn, you sly devil, keeping her to yourself all this time, letting those poor women of the court pine themselves sick over you, and a few of the men, too… Letting everyone think you're above that sort of nonsense, and here you have her stashed away. Well played, Admiral."

Thrawn's face darkened, but Lisetha couldn't keep down a laugh. "This one does have a point. May I keep him? He amuses me."

"That would be the only reason I keep him around," Thrawn said drily.

Pellaeon and Covell, meanwhile, looked like some species of flushed, sweating statues. Lisetha wondered that anyone with faces so warm could avoid being dizzy. "Thank you, General, I think. But other two look so flushed, Thrawn. Do they have a fever?"

Covell's mind seemed to catch up with the situation.

"With all due respect, my lady, for ... whatever your position is ... what _is_ your position?"

Lisetha blinked, and for a moment retreated to Cheunh. [Is that as much a double entendre in Basic as I think?]

Thrawn's lip twisted. [He'll pay for that later,] and switched to Basic. "Colonel Covell, you will be required to visit a sickbay after the next practice session with me."

Lisetha gave him what she hoped was a forgiving smile. "I am Lady Lisetha, and my position, as you say, is whatever your lord the Grand Admiral requires of me."

Pellaeon and Covell looked, if it were possible, even more dumbstruck.

Bittenfeld, though was not yet at a loss for word. "Well, that explains why you were so desperate to get her back. A mistress like that must be hard to come by."

"Spare me your barracks-room language." Thrawn gritted his teeth. "Lady Lisetha and I were contracted to marry before my exile. She chose to follow me once that occurred."

Pellaeon spoke up. "Contracted? Do you mean engaged?"

Lisetha smiled and corrected him, she hoped gently. "Our people don't leave things like marriage to chance, Captain. His adoptive family presented him to my father a potentially-suitable match for me. I was . . . amenable. Your Admiral may be a commoner, but he has many exceptional qualities that any ruling family, such as my own, would be pleased to see bred into their future generations."

Bittenfeld snickered. "Thrawn a commoner? Marrying a princess? This is priceless."

Pellaeon, meanwhile, looked, as far as she could tell, rather horrified. "There's no . . . affection involved?"

Thrawn's face hardened, so she spoke quickly.

"Oh, I could have rejected him if I'd decided he wouldn't do," Lisetha smirked just a bit. "But Thrawn didn't have liberty of choice as a common-born. Or rather, he could have decided to bow out, but the consequences would have been a political disaster and an embarrassment to his adoptive Family."

Pellaeon still looked just a trace stunned at the notion. "Your families simply examined a resume and said 'here, meet and see if you don't mind marrying each other?'"

Thrawn looked a bit pensive. She might, if they'd been alone, even have teased him for seeming sad.

"Matches born of affection have no place in our culture, Captain," Thrawn said, with enough regret in his voice that even the humans surely heard it. "It is one of the things I, in a way, envy of your culture, now that I know of it."

Lisetha took his hand, and only resisted pressing it to her lips because they were not alone. "Affection can be learned. Or blossom on its own when the proper meeting is arranged." And she added in in Cheuh, [Did you think I chased you across a galaxy because I believe so strongly in a contract?]

Thrawn said nothing, but she felt the trace of his thumb across her palm and the gentle pressure of his hand tightening over hers.

Pellaeon might be stunned, but he certainly didn't seem to miss details, either.

"If I might be so bold sir, it appears in that case that you have been a very lucky in your match?"

Thrawn sighed and nodded. "Indeed, Captain. Even if I had the luxury of free choice and all the time in the galaxy to make it, I doubt I could have chosen better."

Lisetha felt a warmth rising up the back of her neck, and knew even if human eyes weren't sensitive enough to see it, Thrawn would, and knew what it meant. If they'd been alone, she would have shown him proper gratitude for such a common, but enchanting, expression of sentiment.

Bittenfeld was clearly not as moved by tenderness as the Captain. "I apologize for my insubordination, sir. However, there is an another matter that needs to be brought to your attention."

Thrawn sighed, only now it was far more annoyed than wistful. "What is it now, General?"

The General drew himself up. He was really quite physically imposing, and more than most humans his skin seemed prone to brilliant infrared displays on the slightest provocation. "You keep your woman locked up like prisoner, Grand Admiral! What does she even do all day?"

Lisetha had to release Thrawn's hand so both hers were free to smother very undignified laughter. "Oh, he's really marvelous."

Thrawn gave her a pointed look. "You don't need a pet."

Lisetha smirked back. "Jealous?"

Thrawn gave the soft snort that was the closest he ever came to open laughter in any company but hers. "Never, but you'll get tired of him, mark my words."

Lisetha shook her head and turned back to the officers. "Oh, I amuse myself. I paint, I draw, I read. I watch your human holodramas."

Pellaon blinked. "You are an artist?"

"A mere hobbyist," Lisetha said. "But I enjoy it. I certainly never had any talent for dancing or playing the tsa'nishen."

Thrawn smiled indulgently. "Who do you think drew the patch on your arm, and the nose art I had them place on the ship?"

Covell and Pellaeon were staring, and even Bittenfeld looked mildly impressed.

Covell said, "You created the chimaera?"

"My . . . Thrawn is quite fascinated by the many legends of such hybrid beasts. I took a rather liberal approach at the three headed mythical beast. Especially on the stylized design for the patch. Thrawn seemed pleased, though. Do you like it?"

Pellaeon looked utterly entranced, and Covell was staring at her with such open admiration she was momentarily concerned Thrawn would be jealous.

"We love you! It, we mean, your design," the Colonel stammered.

"We're proud to wear it, my lady," and Pellaeon now made the title sound quite sincere.

Lisetha lowered her eyes modestly, mostly to hide the pleased smile.

"Oh, I'm merely an amateur."

"It's wonderful, my lady," Covell said fervently. "We've literally fought for it."

Thrawn snorted.

"And now you see, gentlemen, why I had to keep her a secret. Besides, of course, the usual risks of court politics."

They were all nodding agreeably. The effect was almost comic.

"Your secret is safe with us, Admiral," Pellaeon said.

"I'm still not pleased with your keeping a lady locked in a closet." Bittenfeld was still the gundark barging blithely through the art gallery.

Lisetha smiled gently. It was a bit like she imagined dealing with a stubborn child might be like, and given Thrawn's personality and her own, she might as well practice while she could. "I'm perfectly content, General, as you can see. Hardly a prisoner."

Bittenfeld glowered. "Forgive me, my lady. However, if you ever wished to slip out for a fresh air, the Army is at your disposal. I can either accompany you myself or I can recommend my second-in-command, Colonel Covell, he may be a scuttlebutt but he is actually very discreet when it comes to important things."

It was starting to sound like an intriguing idea, really, but Thrawn intervened. "No. Absolutely not. The last time she wandered alone I nearly lost her to the Rebels."

That, if possible, roused the gundark to further heights of indignation.

"IT WOULD HAVE NEVER HAPPENED HAD I KNOWN ABOUT HER!" Bittenfeld bellowed. "I would have escorted her to the station myself. Just let the Rebels _try_ and lay a finger on her then!"

Lisetha looked to her husband. "He does have a point."

Before Thrawn could speak, the gundark charged on. It was small wonder he was often unstoppable on the battlefield, given the determination he put into any objective.

"Grand Admiral, she is a lady and as such she needs to have a taste of fresh air and a change of scenery once in a while. I personally vouch for her safety. If anything ever happens to her, I will bear the consequences."

Thrawn raised an eyebrow, but to Lisetha's astonishment he appeared to actually be considering it. "Without knowing what those consequences would be?"

Bittenfeld drew himself to attention. "I swear on my family honor."

Thrawn smiled, the kind of smile that set even his allies on edge. "Courageous, General, considering you have no idea what I had in mind for the Rebels had I captured them abducting her or if there had been so much as the faintest scratch on her. But I do believe you mean it."

Lisetha did feel obliged to defend herself. "Well, I wasn't harmed. And you have to admit, I was able to take care of myself. If you'd taken much longer to contact them I'd have managed the whole escape myself."

Bittenfeld's ears practically perked.

"Oh?"

Briefly, Thrawn explained Lisetha's capture, in which she'd had to be subdued by a Lasat guard captain after jumping and delivering a painful assault to the traitor ISB agent, Kallus, before the Rebels could hold her, and how she had bought time for their escape and delayed the Rebels who'd brought her to him by sabotaging their stolen transport under their noses. By the time Thrawn finished, Bittenfeld had a positively covetous gleam in his eyes.

"If I may say so, my lady, you would have made an excellent Army soldier."

Thrawn's eyes burned a warning. "Do _not_ give her ideas, General."

Lisetha blushed. "I'm afraid I was born for politics, not war. My talents are more suited to a council chamber than in a walker or a fighter. "

Pellaeon and Covell exchanged startled looks, the wheels clearly turning. Lisetha kept her own council, but she knew what they were thinking. Thrawn would never have spoken aloud of his plans, Palpatine would not live forever and Vader aside, he had no heir. Their expressions said it plainly: they were wondering, were they looking at the future imperial consort? Empress, even?

Thrawn was clearly following their trail of thoughts, too, and she knew what he was thinking behind the tiny smirk. Humans truly _were_ a never ending source of amusement. Ah, if they only knew.

"I will happily leave military matters to those officially positioned to deal with them," was all she said aloud. "Though of course self-defense is an important part of any rounded education."

Meanwhile Bittenfeld's imagination was limited to closer matters. "Sir, I had my suspicions before but now you have confirmed them. There is no clear distinction between navy and army in your species' military forces, is there?"

Thrawn shook his head. "No, General. While we do have admirals and generals, of course, the Chiss warriors are trained for both space and ground combat."

Bittenfeld's expression was downright covetous. "And you don't happen to have more of those Chiss warriors around, do you? I want at least a platoon. Or two."

Thrawn's expression probably seemed blank to the humans, but she knew his feelings on the matter were, at the most, dubious. "I am not sure the General would appreciate that as much as he thinks."

Bittenfeld wasn't remotely deterred. "A platoon of warriors who are well versed in space and ground combat, possessing superior strength, enhanced vision, keener hearing, and are capable of quick thinking, fully at my command, ready to obey my every order?"

Bittenfeld laughed, looking absolutely delighted at the thought.

Lisetha tried not to laugh, either at the sudden enthusiasm or at the horrified expression on Covell's face.

"You are forgetting one matter, General." When he gave her a dark look, she switched languages. [Can you speak Cheunh?]

The general frowned, and tried to repeat what she'd said. At least, she assumed that was what he did, but she couldn't be sure, as what came out of his mouth sounded like nothing so much as a small felid trying to spit around a mouthful of pebbles. She managed to bite her cheek, but Thrawn didn't even make the effort, guffawing with outright amusement.

Lisetha almost laughed, but contained herself. "Thrawn, hush! Imagine what we must have sounded like in Basic the first time we tried!"

Pellaeon and Covell, though, clearly had other concerns. "Did the Admiral . . . laugh?" Pellaeon said.

Covell looked as if he couldn't even blink. "I wouldn't care to speculate. If he did he might be going mad. If he didn't we are."

"I think the universe has gone mad," Pellaeon said.

Lisetha knew she was going to laugh herself sick as soon as she was alone.

[Meeting me, now laughing-be careful, Thrawn, they're going to start thinking you're a mere mortal!]

Thrawn drew in a deep breath and composed himself. "General, your Cheunh pronunciation leaves much to be desired."

Bittenfeld clenched his fist. "If it gets me my platoon of Chiss warriors, I'll learn it! I'll master it in under a year!"

Thrawn raised an eyebrow.

"I could always tutor them," Lisetha suggested.

Pellaeon coughed delicately. "Ahem, sir, I heard it took Admiral Parck several years to learn to pronounce the Admiral's full name properly."

That was probably not the deterrent Pellaeon had hoped for.

"What name?" Bittenfeld demanded. "You have another name, Thrawn?"

Thrawn nodded. "It is pronounced 'Mitth'raw'nuruodo,' General. My core name is much simpler for humans."

Bittenfeld's face screwed up with heavy concentration, and he repeated a string of syllables. Which did, in fact, sound like Cheunh, but not what he had intended to say.

Lisetha clapped both hands over her mouth to try and contain the completely undignified gales of laughter.

Thrawn glowered at the General. "If you had any idea what you just said, General . . . "

Lisetha gasped for breath. "Oh, _nar'ech'yon_ , he is so funny. I want to tutor him, it'll be so amusing."

Thrawn glared. "For a noblewoman, you're not being very dignified."

Lisetha tried to compose herself. "General, try Reli'set'harana."

Bittenfeld gritted his teeth. "Releesetaranah."

Lisetha blinked. "Oh dear."

Thrawn snickered. "I should kill you where you stand, General, using such language. In the most horrible way you can imagine."

Lisetha brushed it aside. "He still amuses me. And you haven't brought me any presents lately."

Thrawn snorted. "As you wish. I reserve the right to tell you 'I told you so' when he's gotten on your last nerve."

Bittenfeld glared. "Slander! I know how one treats a lady-apparently better than you as I don't keep mine locked up!"

Everyone, Lisetha included, stared.

Covell looked genuinely nonplused. "You have a lady?"

"Not a regular one! Who has time for that sort of thing in the Army? Nor as many as the Captain here, so the scuttlebutt says." He gave Pellaeon an overenthusiastic elbow to the ribs.

Lisetha raised an eyebrow, but she noticed that Thrawn did not seem particularly surprised.

Pellaeon glared. "It's not really a fit subject to discuss in front of a lady, General, with all due respect."

"I'm not the one who keeps a running tally," Bittenfeld retorted.

"General, please, there is a lady present. What you or I may or may not do on leave is not an appropriate topic."

Lisetha found the sudden delicacy strange, as they'd no doubt realized, given her presence in Thrawn's quarters, that she was not unacquainted with the notion of certain urges. "Thrawn, humans do not have the concept of recreation?"

Thrawn had the look he got when there was something he would prefer not to explain. "Their customs are very different, my dear. Some habits, even though they are widely indulged in, are considered best not acknowledged openly. Especially when there isn't their version of a contract involved."

"That does explain why some of them seem so tense."

Pellaeon's jaw dropped. "I cannot believe this... coming from a man who could not understand how I can have a son without my knowledge."

Lisetha was sure she hadn't heard properly. "How is that even possible, Captain? Surely you were present for the conception."

Even Bittenfeld was stunned into silence.

Thrawn sighed. "I told you, dear, they are curious creatures."

Lisetha shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around the notion. "Yes, but not so different. I would think they're aware when matters have progressed that far. Unless it doesn't have to take as long to ensure conception. Do they not require complete mating for it to occur? That doesn't sound very enjoyable."

Thrawn for once, looked at a complete loss. Which was preferable to the horrified looks on the humans' faces. "I believe you should add some texts on human biology to your reading, my dear," was all he said aloud, though.

 **THE END**

* * *

MissKitsune08's notes:

Those of you who read ImperialGirl's gift fic to me, A Fair Exchange, might have seen it coming, those who didn't, well... Surprise! Oh, I think this fic was definitely worthy of a long sleepless night spent plotting, scheming, and writing over Messenger with my partner in crime. Well, this escalated quickly... It's literally a joint effort, take a guess as to who wrote what lines...

Oh, and I hope you enjoyed General Bittenfeld. He made his grand entrace in the Second Chances, and I am definitely not done with him yet! He is Mr. Bombastic.

In case you love ImperialGirl's Lisetha as much as I do, be sure to read her A Fair Exchange and, of course, don't forget to read her "main" EPIC series set in the Legends called TIE Fighter (400,000+ words of Thrawn, nuff said).


	2. The Danger of Keeping Secrets

ImperialGirl and MissKitsune08 pulled an another all-nighter; in the previous story, we merged our styles into one writing the fic simultaneously over Messenger, this time we were writing separately, ImperialGirl the first half, MissKitsune08 the latter half, letting the differences in our writing styles show openly. Hopefully you'll enjoy!

Summary:

Vice Admiral Thrawn receives an unexpected visitor almost at the same time as Captain Parck decides to drop by his apartment to congratulate him on his promotion. The Freak Fleet Prequel.

* * *

 _Several years earlier..._

* * *

Thrawn normally did not expect visitors in his apartment in the officer's quarters on Coruscant, certainly not when he was out. Nor for that person to leave, not a message on the door pad's comm, but a scrap of flimsy, folded and tucked as tightly into the door crack as it could be.

He looked up and down the corridor, but it was, to all appearances as empty as it had been when he'd gone down to the recreational deck at his usual pre-dawn time. He could exercise more or less alone then, as few naval officers who achieved any meaningful rank did more than the minimum. Observing those who did was also valuable information. None had preceded him to the lifts, and none that he had seen that day lived on the same level.

Yet the flimsy was there, tucked against his door, and despite the sense of being observed the corridor appeared to be empty.

It was possibly a trap. The flimsy could be dusted with something dangerous. Or it could be more insults – xenophobic slurs or crude cartoons. He'd received enough such insults in a variety of formats it was practically a subset of his art collection. The sensible thing to do was call the security droids to scan the note and review any recordings.

Thrawn rarely did the sensible thing.

Carefully, he crouched down and used a fingernail to ease the scrap out. No heat, no feeling of being attached to anything, and he did not see or smell any telltale powders on it. If anything, it felt oddly familiar, not the right weight or quality to have been produced on Imperial Center. It felt like the fine-grained parchment used for only the most important or formal communications or strictly for artistic purposes on . . . Csilla.

Even without unfolding it, he knew this piece of fabric had come from Csilla. In spite of himself, he felt his pulse quicken. There were very few reasons for anyone from home to send him a message. How they'd managed it was a mystery of its own.

Carefully, he unfolded the soft fabric and the mystery took a sharp banking turn into the impossible. It was not a message but a brush painting, a graceful rendering of a two-headed, spine-tailed beast. It was the chimaera, painted in the same coiling pose as the version from Chiss stories, the one more fanciful sorts like poets and artists claimed to see as a constellation.

Poets, artists, noble-born romantics . . .

He closed his eyes.

 _They had been twined in each other's arms, her fingers tracing a pattern across the bare skin of his chest, as he studied the starscape artificially projected above the garden to mimic the night sky anyone who braved the surface cold would see. He'd been pontificating on the subject of star patterns and legends, including the chimaera._

' _Every race we have encountered has a story, however ancient, of creatures made up of disparate parts. Monsters, for the most part. The blending of two worlds creating a demonic representation of fear of the other. Of mixing with the stranger. A creature that belongs in neither world.'_

' _Most races, including ours, have no imagination,' she'd sighed._

' _For all they're feared, they're powerful,' he'd continued, thought it was not easy to concentrate with her pressed so close to any onlooker the heat of their bodies would have blended to one indistinguishable warmth. 'They captivate by their otherness.'_

He'd gone on, he recalled, at further length, until he'd realized she'd slipped into a doze on his shoulder and he'd changed his focus to waking her by the most unconventional means. But not long after, she had painted an attempt at a chimaera, and had continued until the beast from her brush matched the one in his imagination.

The one staring up at him from the sheet in his hands.

Thrawn jerked upright, turning to stare down the hall even as a shadow moved out of the corner, a tall figure shrouded in a rough cloak like so many travelers in the mid levels of the Imperial capital, but even before she raised a gloved hand, before he heard the voice whisper, _"Mitth'raw'nuruodo_ ," he knew.

It was impossible, insanity, but she was here and he could see the red glow of her eyes, the long braid of cobalt hair with tendrils slipping loose even as he seized her by the arms and pulled her to him.

[Lisetha,] he breathed, and she collapsed against him, shaking.

[Thrawn,] and his core name was half a sob. [I thought I'd never find you.]

Their language was music to his ears, but it also snapped him back to awareness. Any moment one of the other doors could open, some bleary-eyed commander heading off to duty or the lifts would deposit some senior lieutenant only now staggering in from the underlevel dens of iniquity. To be seen with a female was problematic enough. To be seen with one of his own species would raise every unwanted question he had so far avoided. And of course, he had questions of his own.

[Quickly, inside.] He managed the correct lock code and stumbled in, Lisetha still clinging to him and trembling so much he could barely believe she was standing. When the door slid shut and locked, he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look up.

[Lisetha–Lisetha, what are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you even try? Why?]

[Why?] It came out as half a laugh, shaky and unsteady.

[I had to find you. I couldn't stand it any longer. Family was tired of my refusing to even consider a new contract, no one in the Defense Fleet learned a thing from what you did, nothing changed.]

All the high-family trappings were gone. Her clothes were plain, dark, unremarkable, though she had to same something of value secreted somewhere, unless of course it had cost her everything she had to get from Wild Space to the very heart of the Empire.

[If I stayed I'd only have ended up one of them, burying my head in the snow until I froze that way. Alone I could never sway the Council. And . . .] She caught her breath, the shaking slowed. [I couldn't imagine . . . I mean to say . . .]

She took a deep breath.

[Father could force me to break the contract. He could not force me to take back my heart. I decided I would rather die searching for you than die slowly by pieces.]

Some part of him wanted to chastise her for a display of sentiment worthy of the most horrifying cautionary tale for children about defiance of Family and Tradition. Some part of him wanted to take a co-leading role in that story and never let her out of his sight again. But the questions were still demanding answers.

[How? There was no public record of where I was taken. And from there . . .]

 _How much did she know about the truth of his exile?_

[I was Father's aide. I might not have been permitted to hear the deliberations, but he should have known he couldn't encrypt his records enough to keep me out.] Even exhausted, leaning on his shoulder, the smile she managed was more than a trace smug.

[And the only lead _there_ were the references to the human empire. I could find fleet records, see where they tracked those ships near the world you'd been sent. When I was sure you'd been picked up, I went into Wild Space, looking for traces. Finding slicers and pirates who kept abreast of Imperial activity was not so hard, while I had money, and among humans and these other Core aliens, you stand out. It took so long, but once I was here, finding you was a matter of seeking out art dealers and antiquarians who'd remember dealing with you. I even had to trade some of my own pieces–here I gather Chiss work is so exotic it's practically legend! But it didn't matter, because I found you. And then at the very last I almost ran away. I thought, _what if he hates us all? What if he doesn't want me here?_ So I left the sketch, and I watched, and you came . . .]

Irrational in the extreme, a foolish waste for her. Lisetha . . . Aristocra Reli'set'harana, first-daughter of the Second Ruling Family, heir presumptive to her father's position as the Second Councilor, had done something unimaginable.

Unforgivable.

Her father was not a cruel man, or even an entirely conventionally-minded one, but she had in effect exiled herself and even he couldn't have overlooked that. She would be branded a maverick, a near-traitor, unforgivably defiant and disruptive. How much the worse would it be if he sent her back? She'd be fortunate if her family quietly supported her as a nameless artist.

But how could he possibly let her stay? He was a Vice Admiral now, and the higher he rose, the more enemies he made, many with dangerous tendencies and deadly reach. She would be nothing but a target, alone and friendless and utterly vulnerable to anyone who wished to destroy him. Even enforced ostracization on Csilla had to be better for her. Even if he had to take her as far as Wild Space himself.

She was still trembling, pressed tight against him, and knowing it would only make matters more difficult, he tightened his arms and reveled in the familiar way her body molded to his. He had to convince her to go home, to be safe far away from him.

He would never ask her to wait. She was not a warrior. He would never demand such loyalty at such an unfathomable price. It had been harder than he'd expected, knowing he'd lose her, but in the long nights on his faux prison world, he'd convinced himself she would accept the loss and move on.

Yet here she was. Standing surrounded by priceless art and rare antiques, and he would have burned them all to ash to have this one treasure from home with him forever.

[I would never have asked you to do this,] he murmured. [To give up everything.]

Lisetha pressed her hand over his heart and looked up, steadying herself until he saw more than a bit of that confident noblewoman he remembered. [I am with you,] she said simply. [And that is worth everything.]

Thrawn tried to think, and for once in his life failed.

She made a soft sound like a choked sob, and then he was kissing her, and she responded with more desperation than he could have believed possible. The way her skin flushed with heat, the pounding of her heart, the scent of her hair, even the taste of her skin . . . it was all as he remembered and it was _home_.

Half a galaxy away, and he was _home_.

He didn't remember their undressing, but they must have. He never recalled how they managed to pass from the sitting room into the bedroom without stumbling over something, but they did. He did have a very clear thought as they sank down on his bunk (and some distracted part of his mind filed away that Imperial-issue sheets and blankets were far too coarse for a Chiss noblewoman, though for now they would have to do), just before he lost himself completely.

[ _Mine_ ,] he whispered fiercely, and she gasped what might have been assent. [All mine.]

* * *

Captain Parck walked up the stairs in a brisk stride and rang the door chime of Senior Captain Thrawn's apartment in the Officer's District on Coruscant to congratulate him on his promotion to the rank of Vice Admiral.

From time to time Parck visited his apartment when they were both stationed at the Imperial Center between their long term deep space assignments captaining different ships. Just like his old quarters aboard the _Strikefast_ , Thrawn's apartment has been very spartan, and the only possessions the alien ever seemed to acquire consisted of the works of art neatly placed in order, some of them on displays, some of them stuffed away in clearly labeled boxes.

Parck has never inquired about the sum Thrawn spent on his extensive collection but he had been his superior officer once so he could make an educated guess based on how many credits he had authorized to Thrawn's account and how many shipments had arrived in those days to know the alien must have been broke or nearly so between pay dates.

He snickered; there was no doubt Thrawn spent his promotion bonus on an ancient sculpture which he would be polishing, or a broken piece of technology he would be repairing, or a rare painting he would be staring at right now. It wasn't like he ever did anything else when he returned to Coruscant between deployments. And knowing Thrawn, he would be desperately looking for a victim foolish enough to ask about the newest addition to his collection.

Parck frowned and rang the chime one more time; technically this would be the first time he had ever decided to drop by completely unannounced. Perhaps the Chiss was not at home? Visiting a museum? Shopping for antiques?

Well, he would give it one more try and drop by later, the next time definitely announcing himself first.

When Parck discovered it would be both of them receiving a promotion, him becoming a Senior Captain, Thrawn becoming a Vice Admiral, and they would be serving on the same ship, only with the command roles reversed, one could hardly blame him for getting excited to see a familiar face. It would be also the last time they would talk to each other as two officers of a similar standing. Not as equals, for they had never been truly equal. Even when Thrawn had been a mere lieutenant he had been the one running his ship in everything but name.

Fortunately, he never undermined Parck's command authority. Only in private he had sometimes implied, with all his politeness, of course, that there might have been a thing or two Captain Parck could have overlooked or not taken into an account. And it had always proven to be true.

Thrawn had been the type of a subordinate the every ranking officer hated: better and smarter than the commander himself.

Others would have thrown his carcass out the airlock. Parck had come to accept how lucky he was.

He rang the chime for the third time and when nothing happened, he shrugged, and about to go on his way when the door opened to reveal the Chiss, looking somewhat disheveled and dressed not in his usual fleet uniform but black clothing of an unfamiliar cut with burgundy embroidery on the arms. He was also barefoot.

Was it possible Thrawn had spent several days non-stop cataloging his art collection or repairing whatever piece of technology he had bought? Had he become so engrossed that he forgot to sleep and passed out from exhaustion? It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The Chiss has always seemed to appear awake and immaculate on duty, no matter when he was summoned from his quarters, as if he never got tired, as if he never slept. Nonsense, of course, all living beings in the universe needed resting period, it just seemed the Chiss needed much less than an ordinary human and Parck had never before caught him in the midst of one.

"I am sorry, sir. Perhaps I came over at a bad time?" Parck apologized, noting Thrawn's unusual appearance was even more disheveled than he'd first thought. This never happened before. Could the Chiss have fallen ill?

"Captain Parck," Thrawn nodded in greeting, giving him a long, pondering glance as if he couldn't decide whether to invite him inside or send him away. They were two Captains of a similar standing at the moment, and they would be working together in a direct chain of command in the immediate future. Sending Parck away would not be the best way to re-start their working relationship.

"Please, come in, Captain Parck," the Chiss said finally and motioned him to come inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He lead him through the small hallway to the main room which looked pretty much as Parck remembered it, a giant storage room of works of art with a table and a pair of chairs the only concession to the living occupant. The art lived here, not Thrawn. The man only came over to check up on the main tenant from time to time.

"I cannot help wondering how you spent your promotion bonus," Parck said lightly, looking at the exhibits, wondering which one of them was the newest addition to his collection. There were quite a few pieces he hasn't seen before, and there was no way Thrawn would ever spend his bonus on anything other than art.

"As of yet I haven't had the chance to visit the antique dealers in the lower levels, or browse the Holonet auction catalogs, Captain. I have been rather busy."

"I understand," Parck cleared his throat. "Congratulation on your promotion to the Vice Admiral, by the way." Parck gave the newest member of the Admiralty his best textbook salute.

"At ease, Captain," Thrawn returned his salute with all formalities, "and congratulation on your promotion as well."

[If I may say so, sir, it will be a pleasure to work with you again,] Parck said in Cheunh, hoping his pronunciation didn't make him sound like a Wookiee after a long time of not using it.

Apparently, it did, the Chiss stiffened and his face hardened almost imperceptibly, a clear indication that something had been amiss. His Cheunh skills must have gotten much worse than he had feared.

[This human can speak our language?] an unknown, feminine voice from behind Parck replied in the same language.

Parck jerked in surprise, turning at the unknown voice, which almost gave him a heart attack. His military training kicked in, identifying her as a possible threat –

Only to be locked in a durasteel grip from Thrawn, who must have guessed his intentions.

[Calm down, Captain, she means you no harm,] Thrawn said in Cheunh, releasing him immediately once Parck came back to his senses. Damn, the Chiss was strong. There would definitely be a bruise forming later.

[Lisetha, please, never sneak up on a human in a uniform. Captain, please forgive her, it appears that Chiss curiosity got better of her.]

Parck was too busy staring to take offense.

She was, he supposed, strikingly pretty by human standards, her hair fell in a cobalt tangle down her back, a few wild strands falling into her face to shadow the glowing red eyes. She was as disheveled as Thrawn, and Parck realized she was wrapped in standard Navy-issue robe that was clearly too large for her. Thrawn's, obviously. She'd knotted the sash tightly, but was still holding the collar closed with what he assumed was a display of modesty.

[I am sorry,] she said, looking uncertainly from Parck to Thrawn and back again. [Only I have not found many beings who speak Cheunh. Sy Bisti, Minnisiat, but not Cheunh.]

When Thrawn flatly told him that as a human he would never be able to speak Cheunh properly, Parck took it as a personal offense and commanded his then-subordinate to teach him his mother tongue, determined to prove him wrong. As with everything else, the Chiss was right, there were certain sounds that the human vocal cords would never be able to reproduce. But with enough practice Parck taught himself how to make the intonation more pronounced, resulting in strangely accented, somewhat unnatural but passable pronunciation. Once he had passed that stage, even the grammatical hell of High Cheunh became a piece of cake in comparison.

[Captain Parck has been a most eager student.]

Thrawn did not look at him. He was watching his guest, his face as unreadable as it always appeared, but he seemed strangely tense.

[Captain, may I present Aristocra Reli'set'harana of the Second Ruling Family. Lisetha, allow me to introduce Captain Voss Parck of the Imperial Navy. Captain Parck found me on the world where I was exiled and brought me to the Empire.]

She gave a tiny smile Parck knew was fairly demonstrative for the Chiss. [A pleasure to meet you, Captain Voss Parck.]

She was still hovering uncertainly at the door, and Thrawn made a tiny gesture. She hesitated, but then crossed to stand beside Thrawn, who gave a reassuring nod.

 _A sister? No, the names are too dissimilar. Cousins? Another exile? She must be. How did she find him? He must be letting her stay here. Perhaps she lost everything. Only one set of clothes, that must be why the robe._

Parck shook himself. [It is an honor, Aristocra Reli'set'harana,] and he mentally congratulated himself on not mangling the name too badly. [I am pleased to meet a friend of Vice Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo.]

He saw the brief look that passed between them. Friend? That was the right word, wasn't it?

"Do you speak Basic, my lady?"

The glowing red eyes lowered briefly. "Little," she said, and her accent was much like Thrawn's had been when he'd first spoken to Parck on the _Strikefast_.

"Not well. Cheunh . . . more easy?" She glanced at Thrawn.

"Easier," Thrawn corrected, not unkindly. Not unkindly at all. "It will come quickly."

[I hope so, _nar'ech'yon_.]

Parck didn't know the word. [I am sorry,] he said, choosing the word he was fairly sure meant the matter was his failing, not Thrawn's.

[I do not understand that word. The prefix sounds like _half_ , but . . .]

Thrawn actually flinched.

[It is difficult to translate. It has it roots in the archaic word for heart. The modern meaning is . . .] He grimaced, an expression Parck had only seen when Thrawn was trying to avoid admitting something, usually a lack of knowledge he felt was a personal failing.

"I do not know the Basic word. The literal translation of the old form would be I think heart's-half? But the modern word is more . . . legal. Contractual promised? Sworn? In Sy Bisti, _wahtebise_ is similar _._ "

It could mean kinship. It could be a very evolved word for some sort of legal partnership.

Parck looked down, both to hide color he could feel tinging his face and to avoid looking Thrawn in the eyes. As he did, though, he noticed that while the Chiss might never do something so blatant as hold hands, Thrawn and Reli'set'harana were standing so her right hand just slightly brushed the back of his left, their fingers barely twined. It was a very absent-minded gesture, the sort that happened between those who were close. Familiar. Intimate.

"I think the word you mean might be _fiancé(e)_." Parck coughed a bit. "If you mean-you were-are-promised to each other in marriage."

Thrawn nodded. "That is close, at least." He switched back. [When I was arrested, Lisetha's father, the Second Councilor, formally terminated our contract. I do not blame him; it removed any potential dishonor by association and meant she was free to contract a more valuable match.]

[I wouldn't. I couldn't.]

Even if he hadn't understood the words, Parck would have understood her tone.

[I won't give you up now, either, so don't come up with any ridiculously-logical and flawlessly reasonable plan to send me away.]

Parck cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed at being included in a conversation that would be considered deeply intimate even by human standards. He had been taught only the language itself, not cultural or societal norms, but based on the grammatical clauses necessary whenever anything of personal nature ever needed to be addressed, he had surmised that they would have never been having this sort of conversation in front of an another, Chiss or non-Chiss, had they been given a choice.

[Chiss contracts], Parck used the same word the two of them had done, though to him it seemed strange, unnatural, nothing like an equivalent to the word 'marriage' in Basic, more like a 'union' or an 'alliance,' [are not entered upon feeling mutual affection for each other?]

[There are several kinds of marriage contract for the Chiss,] Thrawn explained. [They determine how long the marriage will last, how many children they are obliged to produce, and to which House and which Family, if any, the children will belong, as well as conditions for possible termination of the contract. When the contract is signed, the marriage begins.]

Parck visibly winced. He'd suspected it might have been something like an arranged marriage but to hear it confirmed made him feel an immense sorrow for the couple. They had been so lucky to end up in such a match, and at the same time so unlucky to have the match terminated by Thrawn's exile.

He also knew that by introducing Reli'set'harana to him, by letting him privy to the details of such deeply intimate conversation, Thrawn had openly admitted to a weakness that could have been used against him as a leverage or a blackmail. This was exactly the kind of weakness that the COMPNOR was so desperate trying to find on Thrawn.

Not long after Thrawn rose up to the rank of a Captain, Parck had received a surprise visitor on his way back from an establishment he had frequented, a pair of COMPNOR agents who have been interested in what kind of subordinate the alien was, what kind of hobbies the alien had, and if there was anything that could have been possibly used against him.

Parck had done the only sensible thing: he accepted their invitation for a drink and told them how annoying a subordinate Thrawn had been, how he had run the ship in everything but name, and how obsessed with art the alien had been, the only thing that could have been possibly used against him.

If there was anything that the COMPNOR excelled at, it was blackmail and a preternatural ability to pick up on an outright lie, so he ended up balancing on a rope over a cliff, telling them them the facts without revealing the truth.

And Parck was so successful it almost scared him; he managed to make himself look like an example of someone who bet his career on a cunning alien the Emperor might found amusing and lost the bet. The promotion he had hoped for never came and he had to put up with the cocky alien on his own ship. He also managed to look resigned enough to his fate that the only thing mattered to him was keeping his own position, refusing an offer to bring the alien down to his knees for the fear of retaliation by the Emperor himself.

The mention of the Emperor did the trick. They had already known that it was him who presented Thrawn to the Emperor, he had only confirmed it for them and convinced them he considered it a mistake. They let him off the hook and never bothered him again.

And then Parck did the only other sensible thing: he informed Captain Thrawn. That was how he had ended up in Thrawn's apartment for the first time, and told him word by word what exactly he had told them, leaving out only the details as where they had found him.

He had no idea if the Chiss would understand, but apparently he did. He patiently listened to the whole story and nodded, saying _"You made a correct decision, Captain"_ and proceeded to show him his personal collection of art, the pieces he kept for his own benefit, not the tools he used to get into the mind of his enemies. He even recommended that if Parck ever received visitors from COMPNOR again, he would do well to tell them what art styles Thrawn found to his liking, boring them to death with an extensive list, suggesting what sort of pieces Thrawn could be possibly interested in buying.

 _"The key to success is always staying one step ahead of one's enemy,"_ Thrawn had said that day.

Today, Thrawn had trusted him with an enormous secret, and there was no chance Parck would have ever used it against him. He would take it to his grave. And there was only one sensible solution to this situation.

[She cannot stay here,] Parck said finally, taking a very deep breath, [It's too dangerous. You have too many enemies, sir, and the higher you rise in rank, the greater danger there will be.]

Thrawn froze, his expression as unreadable as he had ever seen, and from the frown of the female Chiss, it must have been difficult to interpret it even for her. [What do you suggest, Captain?] he said in a deceptively mild tone.

Reli'set'harana had gone very still.

[You have to take her aboard,] Parck explained, choosing his words with an extreme caution. [No one else can know about her. I will help you with that.]

[I hate to reducing her to a mere . . . kept woman.] Thrawn was clearly gritting his teeth. Parck knew him well enough to know when he was angry at himself. [It is beneath her dignity as a Chiss noble.]

[Let me be the judge of that,] Reli'set'harana shot back, her eyes glittering. [My place is wherever you require me. I don't care about titles and I don't care about danger. You put yourself in danger all the time.]

It was heartwarming, in a way, how she clearly wasn't the least bit intimidated even by Thrawn. And it was heartwarming, and more than a bit painful, how Thrawn was looking at her with the sort of single-minded devotion Parck had only ever seen him give to art before.

Thrawn had the look of someone who had known all along this was the only possible solution to the problem but did not like the notion at all. It took the most unlikely ally to finally accept the fact that there was nothing else that could be done. The Chiss nodded in resignation.

[Then that is what we will do,] Thrawn said.

Reli'set'harana smiled, and for a moment she grasped Thrawn's hand tightly.

[I will arrange things,] Parck said. [Let me know what you'll need to alter in the admiral's quarters, and I can adjust the crew schedules. We can manage this, Vice Admiral.]

"I think the ranks are not necessary, Voss Parck," Thrawn switched the languages, addressing him by his full name. It might have sounded strange in Basic but among the Chiss it was the proper way to address each other.

"I am rarely at loss for words, however I truly cannot find the proper expression of gratitude. Neither in Basic nor in Cheunh. Especially in Cheunh. You also have my deepest respect considering the conflict of interest on your part."

"I have no idea what you mean," Parck blinked, the sudden turn taking him completely by surprise.

The Chiss stared at him for a moment, unblinking, the look in his eyes getting more and more cautious with each second. "You know very well what I am talking about, Voss Parck," the Chiss hinted.

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Parck repeated, this time much more strongly, for his own benefit rather than for the Chiss.

It couldn't be.

He had been so careful.

"Your secret is safe with me, Voss Parck."

For the first time in his life, the deep red gaze was starting to make him feel uncomfortable.

"I have always known. And I admire you for being so professional about it. It is a very rare trait among humans."

"Y-You've known?" Parck stuttered, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. "All this time you've known?" he breathed out, getting dizzy.

"I came to the realization you hold a certain kind of affection towards me after I realized that you are attracted to male gender exclusively. It took me a rather long time to figure it out, but in my defense I had very little experience in reading humans then and my knowledge of human behavior and customs was rather limited."

It was as if the Chiss took out his heart from his chest and started examining it, studying it from various angles and directions, completely oblivious to the fact it was still beating. Had it been anyone else he might have found it funny that it appeared to be a species trait, for the female Chiss was observing him as well.

"In fact, it still remains very much limited as the only human interaction I have had the chance to observe is working relationships between military officers." Thrawn continued his in-depth study.

No wonder Cheunh was such a complex language, with so many rules and clauses that made him smash a datapad against the wall in sheer desperation at least hundred times over the years. It must have made sense to the Chiss; they were trying to approach things rationally, and when it came to things like emotions and feelings, they had no problem acknowledging they couldn't be approached in such manner.

Unfortunately, humans did not possess such sense of self-reflection. And Parck was a mere human.

"Can I borrow your sidearm and shoot myself in the head rather than to die from embarrassment?" Parck blurted out, feeling the warmth coming up to his cheeks. He had never felt so awkward in his life.

"Why would you do such a thing?" The Chiss jerked in surprise, the red eyes widening; he appeared to be completely at loss. "I meant no offense."

[Thrawn, what are you saying to him?] The female Chiss frowned, her face clouding in confusion. [The distribution of his body heat changed completely, for a moment he almost went into shock...]

"The what?" Parck shouted out in a horror. Surely he must have misheard. "Why is she staring at me like that? What is she saying? My Cheunh has gotten a little rusty, I think something got lost in the translation."

[Lisetha, please, can you go and make us a cup of _chai_?] Thrawn did not take his eyes off him, still staring at him intently, [This is a matter of personal nature that needs to be addressed in private.]

She looked from Thrawn to Parck, but nodded, and vanished into the kitchenette.

"No, you understood correctly. The distribution of your body heat undergone an abrupt change when you realized I knew… Voss Parck, are you all right?"

"No."

Parck felt as if all the blood drained from his face, and after what the female Chiss said he had no doubt that this was exactly the sort of thing the Chiss had the ability to pick up on. Coming from an ice world, it made sense their senses would be honed to such a refined level. In the past it had to mean a difference between the life and freezing to death.

"I am definitely not all right. You mean to tell me that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I kept my distance, it was my body that gave it all away? That you've been reading me like an open book?"

"You cannot blame yourself for the fact that Chiss sensory perception is different from a human's. I have observed this kind of behavior in humans as well as in other species. And other kinds of behavior, too, which they never wanted me to know."

He certainly never intended for anyone in the Imperial Navy, especially Thrawn, to know.

That was the real reason why he had to thread around COMPNOR so carefully. Had they realized Thrawn was more to him than the annoying alien he had to put up with given his inclinations, they would have used it to bring both of them down.

There were two ways to destroy a person: Kill him, or ruin his reputation.

"Never mind."

Parck took a deep breath and forced himself to finally calm down.

"Since you've known all this time I guess you don't mind me being your direct subordinate from now on?"

"Of course not. Only I am not certain I can give you what you want from me," the Chiss wavered, the expression on the blue face showing uncharacteristic hesitation.

What he wanted from Thrawn was completely different from the attraction or the affection he felt for the man; it ran much deeper. And it took all his strength to say it aloud.

"I want to serve a leader I can believe in, a leader worthy of my trust and loyalty," Parck swallowed hard, feeling an immense weight taken off his shoulders. "I want to serve the Empire worthy of its name…"

What was he about to say next was technically a treason of the highest order, but then it was Parck who presented Thrawn as a 'gift' to the Emperor, he had seen Thrawn stand up to Palpatine, talk to him like a leader to an another leader, not like a mere servant to his master.

"I will never forget the venomous gleam in those yellow eyes, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. It's a nightmare that will haunt me for the rest of my life."

The knowledge came with a price.

The expression on the blue face darkened. "You _do_ realize I might require of you to become an extension of myself without revealing my plans to you, Voss Parck. I might require of you to sacrifice your entire career, your entire life for my own goals, what ever they might be, however noble or selfish they might be."

"I do," Parck confessed.

This was what he wanted to be, this was what he truly desired, giving himself up completely to the one worthy of such devotion. What did that say of him? What did that say of Thrawn he had accepted him?

"And you ask of nothing in return?"

"No."

"Hmmm…" Thrawn mused aloud, giving him a long, contemplative look, evaluating him, looking at him with what Parck now realized were very different eyes.

"You have the heart of a Chiss warrior, Voss Parck," Thrawn said finally, and he could hear the sincere humility in Thrawn's voice.

"Very well. If you are willing to become the first of the first of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's Household Phalanx, then I am willing to become your Syndic."

[It will be my honor to serve you, Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo,] Parck said in High Cheunh, and he meant every word.

 **THE END**

* * *

Author's Note:

Yes, in the Freak Fleet verse, Parck is gay. It doesn't make him any less of a man in my eyes, and I am not devolving the fic into a weird het/slash love triangle. Contrary to the popular opinion, you can write a gay character without turning it into a slashfic. What Parck feels for Thrawn is a mixture of deep affection, friendship, and loyalty. To him, Thrawn is the master he wants to serve, the one _he_ believes to be worthy of his trust and loyalty, being gay has little to with it. Parck is a BAMF, and the gay streak only adds to his BAMFness. Deal with it :-P


End file.
